


Take Me By The Hand

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke Griffin summoned you, you answered.  Bellamy's previous employment at Griffin Industries had been marked by constant, unceasing arguments with her, back when she was just a lowly division manager and he was her second-in-command, to the point where most of the staff would put money on what would cause their next blowout (Monroe once thanked him for picking a fight over a vendor, as that apparently paid her cable bill for the month).  Still, they had an unmarred record of the best numbers in the entire company for three years running.  If she was offering him a job, it was probably worth his while to leave work early and see what she had in mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Good to see you,” Clarke said and clicked the door shut behind her.  But rather than walk behind her desk she perched against it, her hands resting on either side.  The sun was setting behind her and damn, he’d forgotten how pretty she was.  Her hair was flowing down to her shoulders and her light blue blouse was open just one button too far.  She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.  “There’s no good way to say this.  I need you to marry me.”</p><p>(Bellarke Fake Marriage AU featuring the usual amounts of contrivances, angst, and smut.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Peter Frampton's Take Me By The Hand.

_Six Years Ago_

_Bellamy stifled a proud smile as he looked around his new office.  He’d made it— he really had.  It had taken ten years, but he finally had a job that would make real money.  A job that would go a long way towards paying back his loans; maybe even make him enough to buy an apartment in the city instead of just renting._

_Griffin Industries was a cutting edge company, having made a drastic shift in the last twenty years from an all-purpose chemical manufacturing company to an international leader in green technology and biotech innovation.  Bellamy had always wanted to work for Griffin Industries, ever since Jake Griffin came to his freshman econ class for a presentation.  Bellamy approached him afterward, and that discussion turned into Jake— multimillionaire, genuis, visionary CEO Jake Griffin— taking Bellamy out for pizza and giving him advice on his future._

_Bellamy had never really wanted to get his degree in business, but as a part-time student raising his little sister it seemed like the best option.  Jake understood that, and Bellamy left that dinner feeling like maybe he could do some good in the world and make enough money to keep Octavia clothed and fed at the same time._

_Jake died in a car accident just three months later, but Bellamy decided he still wanted to work for Griffin Industries no matter what.  And after six years of part-time undergrad and four years of part-time business school, he’d finally made it.  He quit his job at the bar a week ago and was looking forward to getting a real paycheck at a job that didn’t pay him by the hour._

_He was a little apprehensive about his new boss, however.  Thelonius Jaha had been pleasant enough in the interview, but he had a reputation as being difficult and exacting.  Bellamy wasn’t scared of a challenge, but he also wasn’t sure how he would work with someone so particular.  But if that was the only flaw in his new life, he could handle a difficult boss.  Or so he thought._

_Monroe knocked on his door and he spun around (in a chair— a real office chair, with wheels and everything) to acknowledge her.  “You settling in okay?” she asked.  He met Monroe during his first interview and liked her instantly.  She was a little dour, like him, but Bellamy appreciated serious people.  In the month that it had taken to finalize his contract and arrange his start date, he had gotten very comfortable with her._

_Maybe too comfortable._

_“Just fine.  Thanks, Monroe.”_

_“No problem.  Anyway, I’ve been tasked to let you know that Griffin Industries underwent some reshuffling this weekend.  No— you’re fine, your job is safe.  You’re just not going to be working with Thelonius any more.  He’s going to be heading our Artificial Intelligence initiative, and they’re bringing in someone else to run Biofuels.”_

_“So who’s my new boss?”_

_“Clarke Griffin.”_

_Bellamy furrowed his brow.  “Jake’s daughter?  Isn’t she...a kid?”_

_“She’s my age,” Monroe said with a smile.  “Just finished her MBA at Harvard.  We all thought she would want to start in Solar and Green Energy, but she picked Biofuels instead.”_

_“Picked,” he said a little sourly.  “So my new boss is basically some unqualified brat who gets to run a division because of her last name?”_

_“Basically,” a blonde woman announced, striding past a shocked-looking Monroe.  “Clarke Griffin, unqualified brat and your new boss.”  She stuck her hand out for him to shake while Bellamy mentally calculated what the odds were that he would be fired before he’d even been there two hours._

***

 

Bellamy looked down at his phone and did his best not to fidget.  He hadn’t been back inside Griffin Industries in three years, but it looked just as he remembered.  Polished black marble walls, grey accents, and floor to ceiling windows in the corner near the Executive Suites.  Monroe was still sitting at the sleek desk outside of Clarke’s office, typing efficiently.  She looked up and locked eyes with Bellamy.  “She’s just finishing up with Marcus; she’ll be with you shortly.” she assured him.

 

Bellamy nodded at Monroe and scanned Clarke’s email to him for the sixth time since he got off the elevator on the twentieth floor.

 

_Bellamy,_

_I know it’s been a long time since you worked here, but I have a project that might interest you.  Would you mind stopping by my office Wednesday at 5:30?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_Senior Vice President of Development_

_Griffin Industries, Inc._

 

When Clarke Griffin summoned you, you answered.  His previous employment at Griffin Industries had been marked by constant, unceasing arguments with her, back when she was just a lowly division manager and he was her second-in-command, to the point where most of the staff would put money on what would cause their next blowout (Monroe once thanked him for picking a fight over a vendor, as that apparently paid her cable bill for the month).  Still, they had an unmarred record of the best numbers in the entire company for three years running.  If she was offering him a job, it was probably worth his while to leave work early and see what she had in mind.

 

A door opened to his left and Clarke came striding out, her dark red heels clacking loudly.  “Thanks, Marcus,” she called sourly and glanced toward Bellamy.   She jerked her head and he stood and followed her past Monroe’s desk and into her office.

 

“Good to see you,” Clarke said and clicked the door shut behind her.  But rather than walk behind her desk she perched against it, her hands resting on either side.  The sun was setting behind her and damn, he’d forgotten how pretty she was.  Her hair was flowing down to her shoulders and her light blue blouse was open just one button too far.  She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.  “There’s no good way to say this.  I need you to marry me.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw dropped and he gaped at her, sure he’d heard her wrong.

 

Clarke sighed.  “It’s the company.  I’m set to inherit, but my grandfather was a fucking dinosaur and apparently, I can’t become CEO if I’m unmarried.  If I turn thirty and I don’t have a husband, the company goes public and we risk losing control.  I didn’t pay attention to that detail until recently because honestly, there’s no way it could be legal.  But Marcus has been going over everything with the lawyers and even if it isn’t legal, Cage Wallace has a case and could force me out.  Breach of contract, or something.  So now I’m twenty-nine with no prospects on the horizon, and my family will lose the company if I don’t fix that.”

 

“And I’m your best choice?”

 

She gave him one of her patented looks, calculating and direct at once.  “We had our differences, but we worked well together when you were here.  And I’m guessing that between your degrees and raising your sister, you’ve got a fair bit of debt.  I’ll take care of that for you, of course.  And pay you.”

 

“You’ll pay me to marry you.”  Bellamy’s brain wasn’t quite keeping up, because this didn’t happen in real life.  Did it?

 

“I will.  Five million.  We’ll sign a prenup, and that’s how much you’ll get when we divorce.”

 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”  He could have sworn he saw photos of her with a woman in the gossip pages, along with awkward phrasing that referred to her “friend” in the military.

 

“Had.  Lexa and I broke up a year ago.”

 

“So how long would we be married?”   _Five million_.  That was a fuckload of money.  He may have once called her _an insufferable harpy_ , but she had his attention.

 

“A year.  If you agree, we should get married soon.  People will have seen you here, and Monroe will let it slip to the press that we’ve been seeing each other for the past six months or so.  We’ll have a quiet, private ceremony in a couple of weeks and you can move in with me, and we can divorce a few months after I turn thirty, but it needs to seem real or Wallace could go after both of us for fraud.  I’ll pay for everything while we’re together, and you’ll be guaranteed five million when this is all over.  The only requirement is that when we’re in public, we have to be believable.”

 

Bellamy sank into a chair in front of her and rested his elbows on his knees.  “Believable?”

 

“Just seem like we like each other.  Maybe your arm around my waist if we’re at a charity event and there’s photographers.”

 

“I’d ask what you would do if I say I’m seeing someone, but I feel like you’ve got that taken care of.”

 

Clarke nodded.  “I had to be sure before I offered.  Fortunately, your sister is chatty and Monroe makes a surprisingly good spy.  No one serious in the past year, right?”

 

Bellamy closed his eyes, because _good lord_ this woman was overwhelming.  “Right.”

 

“Good.  I know this is a lot to take in and you don’t have to make a decision right now, but I will need to hear from you soon either way.  Can I count on your discretion?”  Something almost like vulnerability flickered behind her eyes and for a moment, Bellamy considered asking for a few days.  Or telling her to go fuck herself, which probably would have been his answer five years ago when they couldn’t make it through a work day without snarling at each other.

 

But she was offering five million dollars and a year of no expenses, and he still had almost sixty  grand in debt between his MBA and Octavia’s undergrad, so he found himself standing up and offering her his hand.

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, princess.”

 

***

 

Marcus Kane leaned back in his chair, a thick stack of papers in front of him, the morning light streaming in behind him.  “First things first, Mr. Blake: the only people aware of what this contract actually entails are those in this room right now, and it needs to stay that way,” Kane said.  Abby Griffin sat to his left while Clarke fiddled with a pen to his right.  Monroe sat next to Bellamy, diligently taking notes.  “You are, of course, entitled to have a lawyer go over the prenuptial agreement before you sign, if you like.  But be aware that the prenuptial is a fairly standard one, entitling you to five million dollars after one year of marriage and twenty million after ten, with the usual infidelity clauses attached.”

 

“Ten?”  Bellamy raised his eyebrows at Clarke.  “You planning on keeping me around for ten years, princess?”

 

She rolled her eyes.  “It’s standard.  It would look fishy if it only covered the first year of marriage.  I promise, the divorce will be filed shortly after our one year anniversary.”

 

“And the fidelity clause?”

 

“Should there be evidence you have been with another person, you will receive nothing. And rest assured— should you let slip that this marriage has been arranged for Clarke to keep the company, that evidence will arise,” Kane warned.

 

“That means Octavia can’t know,” Clarke chimed in.  “If you sign this, you can’t tell her.  Ever.  The truth about our marriage cannot leave this room.”

 

Bellamy glanced at Monroe who was still dutifully typing away.  “No offense, but I understand why Marcus and Dr. Griffin are here, but you get to tell your secretary and I don’t even get to tell my sister?”

 

Monroe stopped clacking away and turned to him.  “I’m her assistant, not her secretary.  And I have an ironclad NDA, which your sister does not.  So yeah, I get to know and Octavia doesn’t.”

 

“Fine, I get it.  Octavia is a gossip.  Anything else I need to know about this arrangement?”

 

Abby Griffin cleared her throat.  “I’ll be handling the wedding planning.  If you sign today, we’ll release word of your engagement to the press next week.  That should give you enough time to inform your friends and family.  Once that’s done, we’ll have a private ceremony for immediate family and close friends at my home three weeks from now, followed by a public reception a month later at the Arcadia Museum of Natural History.  Please be aware, Mr. Blake, that it is of utmost importance that you convince your friends and family that you are in love with my daughter.  Cage Wallace is not a man to be underestimated, and if he suspects the truth he will stop at nothing to force this company public.”

 

“Call me Bellamy.  After all, I’m about to be your son in law,” he smirked.  Abby Griffin maintained the same stone-faced composure he recognized from Clarke.  The Griffin women were not easily rattled, that was for sure.  His grin melted away.  “Anything else?”

 

“That should be all,” Kane said.  “If you’d like to take this prenup to your lawyer, you may do so as long as you have it signed and returned in the next week.  Otherwise— ”

 

“Otherwise I’m a notary, and we can sign this today,” Monroe interjected.

 

Bellamy leveled his gaze at Clarke.  “You sure about this?”

 

“I am,” she said, returning his stare.  For all her faults— and Bellamy had spent a good portion of their time together cataloguing them and occasionally listing them for her— he trusted her.  If she said this was her only option, it probably was.  (Why he cared about her keeping her awful grandfather’s company, he didn’t know.  Maybe it was just because if Clarke was turning to him, she was desperate.  And he might be a s _elf righteous jackass_ , as she once called him, but he wasn’t a monster and he certainly couldn’t say no to a woman in need.)

 

He clicked his pen open.  “Then pass that over.”

 

***

 

Octavia was furious he had been dating someone without her knowledge, to say the least.  

 

“Clarke Griffin.   _The_ Clarke Griffin.  You’re _marrying_ her?”

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“What do you mean, since when?  Since I proposed to her,” Bellamy snapped, swirling his spaghetti around his fork.

 

“You hate her,” Octavia pointed out.

 

“Apparently not, since I’m marrying her and all.”

 

She leaned back from Bellamy’s table and crossed her arms.  “Be serious, Bell.  You haven’t been seeing anyone in forever.  Not since Echo left.”

 

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

 

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Are you ever going to let me live that down?  If she dumped you because I told her you were thinking of proposing, you didn’t want to marry her anyway. I did you a favor and you know it.  But what I don’t get is when you started seeing Clarke, or _that fucking harridan_ as you used to call her, much less decided you loved her enough to marry her.”

 

“She wasn’t technically my boss,” Bellamy protested.  He knew this was going to be difficult, but he didn’t think it would be this hard.  Octavia loved weddings, after all.

 

“Right.  Because that’s the point here.”

 

Bellamy took an overly large bite of spaghetti to buy himself a little time.  He’d rehearsed the story half a dozen times in the mirror, but this was his first time trying to sell it.  “That conference I went to six months ago.  We ran into each other and...it just sort of happened.”

 

Octavia made a disgusted face.  “Yeah, I wasn’t asking for those details, brother.  I mean— you’ve been dating her?  Seriously?  For six months?  And you _didn’t even think to tell me_?”

 

“How long were you with Lincoln before you told me?”

 

“Not the point.  I kept that from you because you’re insane.  I, on the other hand, am your level headed and beloved sister, and yet you kept this from me.”

 

“I kept it from you because I knew you’d— I knew you’d throw what I used to say about her in my face.  Clarke and I— it’s complicated, and it always has been.”  Bellamy was a little surprised by how easily the lie came to him, but he ran with it.  “But she’s— she’s not how I said she was before.  She’s smart, and she’s kind, and...god, O, can’t you just be happy for me?”

 

Her face softened slightly.  “You love her?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then when’s the wedding?”

 

“Three weeks from tomorrow,” Bellamy said and braced himself for the explosion.

 

(Octavia did not disappoint).

 

***

 

Miller’s reaction to the news was, if possible, even worse.

 

“Of course you are,” he said, not even taking his eyes off the hockey game playing above the bar.

 

“What do you mean, _of course I am_?” Bellamy sputtered, caught completely off guard.  “You didn’t even know we were together.”

 

“True.  But dude, I worked with you two, in case you’ve forgotten.  For two godawful years.  So yeah, not surprised.  How long has this been going on?”

 

“Six months,” Bellamy managed.

 

“That’s all?  Damn, I thought you two had something going when you still worked there.  Anyway, I assume O is your best man, but am I least least invited?”


	2. Chapter Two

_Four Years Ago_

_“I hate these fucking things,” Raven groused.  She signaled to the bartender for another beer and looked over at Bellamy.  “You look about as happy to be here as I am.”_

_Bellamy shrugged and tried not to glare at Clarke.  He had actually been enjoying himself earlier because for once, he and Clarke were getting along.  They had just won a Department of Defense contract, thanks partially to Raven’s brilliance and partially to the pitch he and Clarke had put together.  That had involved a lot of late nights and more than their fair share of arguments, but when they got the email the other morning she ran into his office and threw her arms around his neck in excitement.  Without thinking he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around.  Clarke was laughing and so was he, and suddenly every bit of friction between them melted away.  “Let’s go tell the team,” she said, her smile threatening to split her face in two.  They hadn’t had a single argument since that day— a record, according to Miller— and when he arrived at the office Christmas party Clarke had sought him out, looking radiant in a dark green dress._

_They chatted pleasantly for a half hour (also a record, Miller would tell him later) until a man Bellamy vaguely recognized from legal made his way over and draped his arm over Clarke’s bare shoulders.  “Sorry I’m late, babe,” he said casually._

_Clarke smiled at the interloper in a way that made Bellamy’s stomach twist uncomfortably.  “Don’t worry about it.  Do you know Bellamy?”_

_“I don’t think I do.  So you’re the infamous Bellamy Blake— I’m Finn, Clarke’s boyfriend,” he said, shaking his ridiculously long hair back off his shoulders._

_Bellamy’s good mood evaporated and he shook Finn’s hand.  His name rang a bell, but he couldn’t remember why.  Something to do with Raven; they dated, maybe?   “Should we go mingle, babe?”  Finn asked Clarke, and with one last smile at Bellamy they left him behind._

_That was an hour ago, and all he’d really done since then was drink and grumble at Miller.  At least Raven shared his foul disposition.  She knocked back a gulp of beer and followed his gaze.  “We were together, you know.  Me and Finn.”  Bellamy raised his eyebrows in surprise and Raven took another swig.  “Until a couple of months ago.  Then he informed me he’d fallen in love with my boss.”_

_“What a fucking dick.”_

_Raven snorted.  “Eloquent.  But yeah, it fucking sucked.”_

_“Pretty shitty of her, too.”_

_“I don’t think the princess knows,” Raven said with a shrug.  “Finn and I weren’t super public and she hasn’t been acting any different towards me since, so...I think she didn’t know about me any more than I knew about her.”_

_“Dick,” Bellamy repeated._

_“Thanks,” Raven replied.  “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”  They clinked their glasses together and set about getting good and drunk._

_An hour later they were in his office, Raven perched on the edge of his desk while he knelt in front of her, his face buried between her thighs._

_It was fun, but neither of them felt any better._

 

***

  
  


“The judge is getting set up.  Are you ready?” Clarke asked, peeking her head into the library where Bellamy was waiting.  She was wearing a simple, knee length white dress and her hair was twisted back into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

 

“Isn’t it bad luck for me to see you before the ceremony?” Bellamy asked.

 

She shut the door behind her and rolled her eyes.  “If this meant something, probably.  But I need to talk to you.”

 

Bellamy swept his gaze over her and was once again reminded of just how unearthly beautiful Clarke was.  That had bothered him a lot when they first worked together; now it bugged him for an entirely different reason.  “What did I do now?” he grumbled to hide his admiration.

 

“First of all, you could have told me you slept with my best friend.”

 

Bellamy grimaced.  “I sort of forgot about that,” he admitted.  “Sorry.  Really— I would have mentioned it if I thought of it.”  In his defense, Clarke and Raven had only started to become friends when he left Griffin Industries, so he hadn’t really considered that angle when accepting Clarke’s proposal.

 

“Right, well, Raven’s spent the morning regaling me with details about your talented tongue, so, you know, thanks. Are there any other of my friends I need to worry about?”

 

“No.  Just Raven.  And just the once, I swear.”

 

“Yeah, I know.  She, um, filled me in.  But that’s not really why I’m here.”  Clarke walked to the desk in the center of the room and picked up a paperweight, seemingly for something to do.  “I, um, I realized we’ve never kissed.”

 

“You’re just realizing that now?”  He probably shouldn’t antagonize her today, but he was on edge and it was sort of a habit.

 

She set the paperweight down a little too heavily.  “No, I mean— we’ve never kissed.  And we’re about to get married in front of our family and friends, who might notice if it seems like we’ve never kissed before.”

 

“We’re both adults.  We’ve kissed people before.  It’ll be fine, princess.”

 

“No, it won’t.  Look, I get that this is just money for you, but this is my life.  My company.  My father’s legacy.  If we can’t sell this, I lose it all, and I know you don’t give a damn about that, but if I lose it all you lose the money, so maybe you can at least pretend to care,” she hissed.

 

Bellamy straightened from where he was resting against the back of a chair and paced toward her.  “So you want to practice.  That’s why you’re here.”

 

“No, I mean, yes, I mean— I mean we should probably get the awkward first one out of the way.  So the one in front of everyone isn’t stiff.”

 

“Stiff?  Do you really think that’s what would happen?”  He stopped just inches from her and raised an eyebrow teasingly.

 

“You’re insufferable, you know,” she said without any real heat.

 

“So you keep telling me.”  He cupped her face and brushed his thumb across her lips.  “But I promise you, I can sell this.  The real question is, can you?”

 

Her eyes dilated and she swallowed thickly.  “Of course I can,” she whispered.

 

Bellamy mostly started this to piss her off, but now he felt frozen on the spot, trapped by her blue eyes.  Her skin was soft and warm under his hands and her lips were full and parted.  “Then prove it,” he whispered back and carefully fitted his mouth to hers.  At first, all he could taste was her lipstick, waxy and almost bitter, but then she opened her lips to welcome him in and all of a sudden, he was drowning.  His blood roared in his ears and her fingers curled into the front of his shirt when her tongue met his.  He pressed her back against the desk and tipped his head to the side to deepen the kiss, but an exaggerated throat-clearing from the door made them break apart.

 

“The judge is ready for you.  Unless you guys need a minute,” Miller said drily.

 

Clarke extricated herself from Bellamy’s grasp and hurried out the door without looking at him.  “I’ll just need a second to fix my makeup and be right out,” she told Miller as she left.

 

Bellamy’s heart was pounding in his chest, because _what the fuck was that?_  At least Miller didn’t seem surprised, and he supposed it would help sell the whole whirlwind-romance thing.  Still— that was not what he signed on for, even if it was his own fucking fault.

 

Miller cleared his throat again.  “You’ve got some lipstick there,” he said, motioning to his lips and clearly struggling not to grin.

 

“Fuck you,” Bellamy mumbled, wiping at his mouth as he followed Miller out of the library.

 

Of course, now he was far more on edge about the ceremony and the kiss than he had been before Clarke came into the library.

 

Fortunately, the ceremony went off with barely a hitch.  Clarke seemed nervous as well as she walked down the short aisle of her mother’s rose garden, clutching Wells’ arm and smiling shakily.  Bellamy had met Wells for the first time the night before at the rehearsal dinner and liked him, in spite of the fact that Wells shook his hand so tightly he threatened to crush it and then warned _you better not break her heart_.  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bellamy replied easily, because after all, there were no hearts involved here.  But he respected Wells’ instinct to protect his friend and nodded to him after Wells kissed Clarke’s cheek and took his place beside her.

 

The judge started droning on but Bellamy lost track of what she was saying because Clarke had slipped her hand into his and squeezed.  Bellamy squeezed back automatically and before he knew it, the judge was pronouncing them married.  This kiss was far more careful, far more measured, than whatever had happened in the library.  It still made his heart pound, but that was just because they were lying everyone that mattered to them.

 

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

 

The dinner that Abby hosted after went smoothly enough too, despite Miller asking for a show of hands as to who thought Clarke was pregnant after hearing about the engagement.  (Octavia, Monty, Miller, Raven, Wells, and Lincoln all shot their hands in the air immediately).  But Clarke just laughed and raised her champagne flute pointedly, and when Bellamy draped his arm casually over her chair she even seemed to lean toward him.  Octavia kissed Clarke goodbye, and Raven gave him a high five and a lecherous wink, and when he and Clarke escaped into the limo that would take them to Clarke’s mansion, they seemed the picture of newly-wedded bliss.

 

But the second the chauffeur slammed the door Clarke dropped his hand and rummaged through her clutch to find her phone.  She started answering emails as if he wasn’t there, and by the time they pulled up in front of her neoclassical mansion, Bellamy felt his usual level of resentment towards her.

 

Mostly.

 

***

 

The biggest change in his life after marrying Clarke was living in her mansion.  Bellamy had thought he lived in a fairly nice apartment, what with it’s exposed brick and floor to ceiling windows with a view of the skyline, but his place had nothing on hers.

 

For one thing, he still didn’t know where everything was.  Clarke had showed him to his bedroom the day before the wedding— it adjoined hers, but with his own bathroom and closet— and he could make his way from his bedroom to the kitchen, but that was about it.  Simply put, her place was enormous.  But his first week there he spent most of his time at his office anyway, shepherding a project through its final stages and only returning to the mansion to sleep. Both he and Clarke had to work the Sunday after their wedding, and aside from occasionally passing each other in the kitchen in the morning, he barely saw her.

 

It wasn’t until a week after their wedding that Bellamy woke to realize he had the day to himself and resolved to explore his new home.  Clarke’s bedroom was empty, her bed immaculately made, and there was no sign of her in the kitchen either other than a freshly brewed pot of coffee.  It was spooky, really, how she managed to leave so few traces of herself in her own home.  He poured himself a mug of coffee in the expansive kitchen, the dark granite countertops gleaming.  The stove was enormous, even though as far as Bellamy could tell, Clarke was never home for dinner, much less had enough time to cook it.  He couldn’t fault her there, since aside from his monthly spaghetti dinners with Octavia, he rarely bothered to make dinner for himself either.  

 

Bellamy skirted the island (with a second sink, the purpose of which he could not discern) and wandered through the richly decorated formal dining room and the living room with the plush couches and ludicrously big TV.  He headed down a hallway he hadn’t explored yet, slurping his coffee, and frowned.  He could hear Led Zeppelin drifting down towards him from the closed door at the end, but before he could get closer the door opened and Clarke emerged.

 

He’d never seen her like this— her hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing an ancient button down so covered in paint he wasn’t sure of its original color.  It hung down to the hem of her cutoff shorts, and she was barefoot, her legs splattered in light blue paint.  She startled when she saw Bellamy and quickly shut the door behind her.  “Um, hey.  Morning,” she said a little awkwardly.

 

“Morning.  Hiding a body in there?” he grinned.

 

“What? Oh, no, um, that’s just...that’s my studio.  It’s, um...it’s private, if that’s okay.”

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “It’s fine.  Anywhere else I can’t go in this place?”

 

“No, that’s it.  Are you settling in okay?”

 

“Okay.  Just looking around this morning.”

 

“I was headed to grab some coffee but then I could show you around?” Clarke offered, appearing to have finally recovered from her surprise at seeing him in the house they now shared.

 

“Sounds good,” Bellamy replied.  

 

He followed her back to the kitchen and then off in the opposite direction from her studio.  They went upstairs first and Bellamy inwardly marveled at why anyone would need a house with eight bedrooms and ten bathrooms.  “My grandfather designed this monstrosity.  He planned on having half a dozen kids and built accordingly,” she volunteered, reading his mind.  “But in the end it was just my my father and...well, my dad sort of hated it here and moved out as soon as he could.  Felt it was too big.”

 

“So how did you end up here?”

 

“Grandpa died just a few months before my dad, and Dad was planning on selling it, but then...well, then it came to me and Mom and I— I needed some space, so I moved out.”

 

Bellamy stifled a snort of annoyance at the idea of teenager getting her own four thousand square foot mansion for some space, considering as a teenager he was raising Octavia in a shitty apartment that was barely seven hundred square feet.  But Clarke seemed to get there before him, as usual.  “I know, I know— it’s a lot.  But this is the life I grew up in, okay?  And once I moved in here, it sort of became my refuge.  Or the parts I use, anyway.”  

 

“I met your dad,” Bellamy admitted.

 

“You did?  When?”

 

“I was a freshman and he came to my class to give a talk.  We ended up getting dinner together, and he...I liked him.  He’s the reason I wanted to work for your company, actually.”

 

“Did I ruin it for you?” she asked wryly.

 

“Just about,” he replied, matching her tone and earning himself a grin.

 

She padded down the back staircase and led him to a set of doors he hadn’t seen before.  “And this was Grandpa’s library,” she announced and pushed the french doors open.

 

Bellamy’s jaw dropped involuntarily.  The library was two stories, with arched windows and books lining the walls.  Morning sunlight streamed in on the polished wood floors, and Clarke grinned at him.  “You like it?”

 

“Like it?  It’s amazing.”

 

“Then it’s yours.”

 

Bellamy turned and looked at her.  “Really?”

 

“Why not?”

 

He chuckled.  “You realize what this is, right?”  Clarke looked at him quizzically and he shook his head.  “You have a room you won’t let me in and now you’re giving me a library?  You realize this is the plot of Beauty and the Beast, right?”

 

Clarke snorted.  “It is, isn’t it?  Well, I promise the furniture doesn’t talk.”  They smiled at each goofily other until Clarke looked away and shuffled one bare foot over the other.  “Anyway, I’ll probably be in my studio for a few more hours and then head into the office, if you need anything.”

  
Bellamy nodded and watched her go with an odd sort of fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleedtoloveher gets all the credit for the Beauty and the Beast riffs.


	3. Chapter Three

_Five Years Ago_

__

_“What the fuck is this?” Bellamy snarled, barrelling into Clarke’s office without knocking._

__

_“Good morning to you too,” Clarke said drily, not even looking up from her computer._

__

_“I spend months convincing Monsanto to make a deal with us and you go and blow it up without even consulting me?”_

__

_“Monsanto is evil.”  Clarke slurped her coffee and added another sentence to whatever she was writing._

__

_“Not the fucking point.”_

__

_Finally she snapped her eyes to his.  “Yes, it is the fucking point.  I told you that the Monsanto deal was a bad idea when you brought it up, but you pursued it without consulting me.  So I blew it up without consulting you.”_

__

_“So what the hell are we going to do?”_

__

_Clarke shrugged.  “That’s my problem.  I’ll figure it out.  But I’m not getting my father’s company involved with them.”_

__

_“Of course.  Because heaven forbid any of us should forget that this company belongs to you,” he sneered._

__

_“You certainly won’t let me forget it,” she said evenly.  She stood up and leaned over her desk, bringing her nose within inches of his.  “I told you I wasn’t on board.  I don’t care if you hate me, it was a bad deal and we’re not doing it.”_

__

_Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her.  “So you’re pulling rank?”_

__

_“I am.”  Clarke refused to back down and for a split second, his gaze moved from her eyes to her lips._

__

_“Fine.”  He spun on his heel and stormed out of her office before he did anything stupid._

***

Clarke clicked her phone off and looked at him across the limo.  “This should be easier than the wedding itself— it’s mostly board members, other CEOs, and your usual socialite fixtures.  Most of them are just coming to see if I’m pregnant, to be perfectly honest.  We should probably be affectionate, but nothing too crazy.  Hand holding, that sort of stuff.  My mom hired a photographer to take some candids inside, plus a few staged photos at some point, and there will be a press line on the way in. Think you can handle it?”

Bellamy gave her a mock salute.  “Aye aye, cap’n.”

Clarke frowned.  “I know, okay?  But I take this seriously.”

Her words reminded him forcefully of that moment before the wedding and he fell silent.  “Got it.”

The limo pulled in front of the steps to the Natural History Museum and even though he was prepared, he was a little taken aback by the line of photographers waiting for them.  Abby had told him that their wedding reception would be covered by the local papers, but he sort of assumed that would mean one or two photographers and a society reporter, not a dozen of each.  

Clarke sent him a reassuring smile.  “They won’t be inside.  We’ll stop for a few photos, but no questions, okay?”  Bellamy nodded and she slipped her hand in his as the chauffeur opened the door for them.

He was temporarily blinded by the flashbulbs and trusted Clarke to lead him up the steps.  She seemed practiced at this, laughing with the photographers who shouted out requests.  He recovered in time to place his arm around her shoulders and smile along with her, and on their third stop he pressed an impulsive kiss to her temple.

Clarke giggled and rested her hand on his chest, looking up at him adoringly.  Cameras clicked in front of them and he kept his eyes on her.  Her smile seemed genuine and for one heartstopping second, he wondered if she wasn’t pretending.

But then her eyes shuttered and they were back to the game.

Inside, Bellamy found the largest, fanciest party he’d ever attended.  Abby had chosen a Roaring 20s theme, which he thought was in slightly poor taste given the income equality that categorized the 1920s, but he had to admit, it was beautiful.

Or maybe he was just thinking of Clarke, in her blush colored, knee length dress with a sparkling silver overlay.  When the light hit her just right, she seemed to be made entirely of diamonds and his breath would catch in his throat.  They hardly let go of each other all night, circling the guests and telling the same story over and over again.

_We used to work together, and when I saw him at that conference--I just knew._

__

_What can I say?  She knows what she wants and I’m a lucky man._

__

Their laughter was forced, but no one seemed to notice.

Cage Wallace cornered them an hour into the party, his eyes cold and calculating as he asked bland yet pointed questions their marriage.   _He knows_ , Bellamy thought uneasily, and a quick glance at Clarke confirmed that she was thinking the same thing.  He put his arm around her shoulders and she tucked herself against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Rumor has it you two didn’t always get along,” Cage said, his pleasant tone belying the sharpness of his questions.  “What changed?”

Bellamy rubbed his thumb across Clarke’s bare shoulder in what he hoped passed for a familiar gesture of affection.  “I wouldn’t say we didn’t get along— we just enjoyed sparring,” he said with a chuckle.

Clarke smiled up at him sweetly.  “He’s downplaying it a little, but yeah, there was never any real animosity.  Where’s Lorelai tonight?  She couldn’t make it?”  Cage’s wife ran a research division of Mount Weather, Inc., and was legendarily terrifying.

Bellamy recognized a conversation dodge when he heard one, but unfortunately, so did Cage, who waved a hand dismissively.  “She’s stuck in the lab.  Sends her best wishes.  But this marriage...so sudden.  Doesn’t seem like you, Miss Griffin.  You don’t seem the type to rush head first into things without a good reason.”

“I would think being in love is reason enough,” she replied lightly, although Bellamy felt her muscles stiffen under his touch.

Bellamy moved his hand to between her shoulderblades.  “It’s reason enough for me.  But I think I see my mother-in-law signalling us, so you’ll have to excuse me and my bride.  Nice to see you again, Cage.”  

Clarke followed his lead and slipped her hand into his as they made their through the crowd.  “I think we have a problem there,” she murmured in his ear.

Bellamy drew them to a stop and fit his hand along her jaw.  “Then I guess we’ll have to play to the cheap seats.”

Clarke smiled and let him press their foreheads together, nuzzling their noses like they were alone in a bedroom and not in the middle of a gala thrown just for them.  She brushed the merest of kisses to his lips and then stepped away, playing up her reluctance so convincingly Bellamy almost believed it.  The noise of the party faded back in and they returned to the business of mingling.

Bellamy forgot about Abby’s photographer until near the end of the evening when she approached them for a few more shots.  She positioned them in front of the ice sculpture.  “All right, now look at each other lovingly,” Indra barked.  Bellamy took her hands in his and Indra sighed exasperatedly.  “I said lovingly, not like you’re negotiating a contract.”

Clarke smothered a giggle and Bellamy tucked a loose curl back behind her ear.  “There, that’s it,” Indra said.  “Now kiss.”

Bellamy curled his hands around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s forehead, right where her spangly headband bisected her crown.  Indra sighed again.  “Kiss, I said.”

Clarke tipped her chin up to meet his gaze and wiggled her eyebrows.  A smile quirked the corners of his lips and he leaned down, intending for it to just be brief, just for show.

But the second their lips met, the rest of the world melted away.  His hands cradled her face and hers slipped under his jacket, around his waist, and she opened her lips just slightly to allow him access.

“That’s all,” Indra snapped.  When they didn’t stop right away, she sighed loudly for the third time and turned on her heel.

Clarke came back to herself first and stepped away, smiling almost shyly.  “I think— I think that’s it.  We can go now, if you want.”

He kept his hand on the small of her back as they walked down the steps toward the waiting limo.  He wondered if her lips were tingling the way his were from that kiss, and if her skin burned like his palm did where he touched her.  Spending the whole evening pretending to be in love had been easier than it should have been, but now they were leaving and he wasn’t sure if it had affected her the same way.  Clarke kept her eyes on the steps and slid into the limo without looking at him, and he thought he had his answer.

But then the driver slammed the door shut and her lips were on his, stealing his breath away.  She blindly slapped the partition button to shield them from the driver and clambered onto his lab, hitching her delicately jeweled dress up over her thighs.

Bellamy groaned into her mouth and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips.  She tugged desperately at his tie, loosening it and then undoing the top two buttons to drag her lips across his jaw and down his throat.  Clarke sucked hard on the place where his neck met his shoulder as Bellamy slipped his fingers into the loose bun at the base of her neck and tipped her head back to meet his lips again.  He could taste the champagne from the party, but even that paled in comparison to the sweetness of her tongue.

She rocked her hips against where he was hard, aching for her, and Bellamy tightened his grip on her hair to bare her neck to him.  He nipped at her collarbone and roughly pulled the tiny strap of her dress down over her shoulder.  Clarke attacked his mouth again, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt.  She started fumbling with his shirt but lost patience and ripped the two sides apart, sending buttons flying around the back of the limo.  

Bellamy took his cue from her and snapped her other strap between his fists, pulling her dress down and revealing her breasts.  Clarke moaned in his ear as he palmed her left breast in his hand, and dragged her nails down his torso when he drew her right nipple into his mouth.  He bit down gently and she keened, and Bellamy trailed his fingers down her side and urged her dress higher so he could slip his hand between her thighs and nudge her panties aside.

She gasped in his ear and rested her cheek against his temple.  He pressed a finger inside of her, her wetness easing his way.  From the floor, her phone trilled.

“Ignore it,” Bellamy growled when he felt her tense, adding a second finger and curling them just slightly, just enough to make her gasp again.  He sank his teeth into the meat of her shoulder and pressed his thumb to her clit as her phone trilled for a third time.  She froze again, and Bellamy brought his lips to her ear.  “I said, ignore it.”

Clarke shook her head and Bellamy withdrew his fingers.  “It’s— that’s Monroe’s ring.  She wouldn’t call unless it’s an emergency.  I’m sorry.”  She climbed off of him and straightened her dress as best she could as she answered her phone.  “What’s wrong?  Wait, they sent— oh shit.  Yeah, no, you were right to call me.  Did you pick up my clothes from the cleaner’s yesterday?  Okay, great.  I’ll have the limo drop me at the office right now.  Can you meet me there?”  She hung up and looked at Bellamy, chewing her lower lip.

“I heard.  It’s fine.  Sorry about your dress, by the way.”

“Sorry about your shirt,” she said with a soft smile.

She hit the intercom and rerouted the driver while Bellamy picked up his jacket and offered it to her.  “Just take it,” he insisted.  “I know, you have clothes at the office, but trust me.  You look like you just had sex in a limo.  This’ll cover you until you get inside.”

“Thanks.  I’ll see you...tomorrow?”

“You know where to find me,” he said drily, and helped her out the door.

“‘Night, Bellamy.”  And with the click of the car door, she was gone.

***

_Clarke Griffin_

_11:39am_

_We’re having some major supplier issues with the factory and it looks like I’ll be stuck here all day._

__

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:41am_

_Did you even make it home last night?_

__

_Clarke Griffin_

_11:42am_

_Nope._

__

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:42am_

_That sucks.  Is it fixable?_

__

_Clarke Griffin_

_11:42am_

_It is, but it’s a complete clusterfuck right now.  I know we should probably talk, but I don’t think I’ll be home until pretty late._

__

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:42am_

_I understand.  I leave tonight for New York, but I’ll be back by late Friday._

__

_Clarke Griffin_

_11:43am_

_Then I guess I’ll see you then?_

__

_Bellamy Blake_

_11:43am_

_Guess so._

__

Bellamy flipped off the coffee maker, put his mug in the sink, and headed upstairs to pack.  If she wasn’t coming home, there wasn’t much point in him waiting around.

***

“What do you think, Blake?”

“Hmm?”  Bellamy looked up to find six different faces watching him expectantly but he had no idea what was going on.  His mind had been several hundred miles away, dwelling on a blonde woman with inscrutable motives.

Anya sighed loudly— something she did often, Bellamy had learned— and sent him a withering glare.  “I said, do you think the California legislature will pass the solar credit this term?”

Bellamy mumbled something about getting in touch with the lobbyist to be sure, and the meeting continued, letting him return to his wallowing in peace.

_Was it real?_  His gut said yes— the way she nearly attacked him in the limo, her haste to get his clothes off, her fingers digging into his skin, all of them indicated that it was not a show.  The kiss for Indra might have been, but what happened after was real for both of them.

__

_But real in what way?_

He could admit to himself that in the last few weeks, his feelings for Clarke had shifted from whatever they had been before to...something more.  He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her at the reception, and as much as he tried to tell himself that what happened between them was just physical, he didn’t really believe it.

But Bellamy didn’t really have a script for telling his wife he was falling for her, and at any rate, he had no idea if she felt the same way.  More than likely it was just physical for her— she was busy and stressed and he was available and willing.   _That’s all._

***

Bellamy waved his thanks to the driver and trudged up the steps to Clarke’s mansion.  He should probably start thinking of it as his house, but he just couldn’t.  He unlocked the door and turned to punch in the security code but found it wasn’t on.

Which meant Clarke was home.

He stood in the dark foyer and considered attempting to sneak up to his room.  If she was in her studio, she might not hear him.  But if she was in her room or the kitchen, she probably would.  And she would probably want to talk about whatever the fuck had happened in the limo, but Bellamy wasn’t so sure he wanted to anymore.

Because talking to her would also give her the option of telling him it was all a mistake.  Or worse.

_She’s paying you for this,_ an awful voice in his brain started hissing somewhere around Thursday morning.   _She literally hired you for your services.  Why are you surprised she’s using them?_

He decided that he was going to take the coward’s way out and moved toward the stairs.  “Bellamy?”  He froze and swore internally.

A light switched on in the kitchen, so Bellamy left his suitcase on the landing with his jacket piled carelessly on top of it and went back down to see her.  She was standing near the hallway that led to her studio but she wasn’t dressed for painting.

He kind of wished she was, because the skimpy black nightgown she was wearing sent his mind straight back to the limo and the taste of her skin.  He couldn’t afford to be weak, but seeing her dressed like this, her hair spilling down her back, made him waver.

He cleared his throat and faced her.  Only the light above the island was on,the rest of the kitchen swallowed by darkness.  “Welcome back,” Clarke said.  “How was New York?”

“Fine.”  He crossed his arms, acutely aware of how clothed he was and how not-clothed she was.  The nightgown stopped just above her knees and her breasts pressed against the lacy trim.

“So, about— about the other night,” she started, but Bellamy cut her off.

“What do you want, Clarke?”

She furrowed her brow.  “What do you mean?”

He stepped towards her and she moved back, bumping against the counter.  “What. do. you. want?” he repeated.  He knew his annoyance with her wasn’t entirely fair, but he had just spent a week wondering about her motives.  The longer he looked at her, the angrier with himself he became.

Her hesitancy melted away, replaced by a look that was somehow fire and ice at the same time.  

She dragged her eyes up and down his body and then spun around, opening the cabinet behind her.  “I think we need some wine for this conversation,” she said.  Clarke pulled down two glasses as Bellamy moved behind her.

“I don’t,” he growled.  He placed his hands on either side of her and pressed against her back.  

Clarke stayed where she was save tossing her hair to one side.  “Then what do you want?”  Her voice was breathy, needy.

“That depends.  What do you want, princess?”  He brought his lips down to the shell of her ear and she shivered.  He wrapped his forearm around her waist.  “This?”  He started gathering the soft, silky material of her nightgown in his hand, dragging it up her thigh.

Clarke tipped her head back against his shoulder and Bellamy inched his hand higher.  “Or this?”

She covered the hand at her waist with her own.  “Yes,” she breathed.  Her head rolled to the side and he sucked hard at the place where her neck met her shoulder.  Bellamy moved his hand to the inside of her thigh and paused again, just millimeters from her heat.  

He waited for her to moan impatiently before he moved his hand higher, only to discover she wasn’t wearing panties.  “Fuck,” he groaned in her ear, his fingers slipping between her folds.  “Were you waiting for me?”

Clarke barely managed a nod and he pulled her earlobe between his lips, drawing a slow, teasing circle around her clit.  His breath fanned across her neck and he brought his other hand  up, cupping her breast through the flimsy fabric of her nightgown.  Her nipple hardened under his palm and her arousal coated his fingers as her breathing became shallower. Clarke wrapped an arm back around his neck and tangled her fingers into his hair, tugging his face down and meeting him in a bruising kiss.

It was sloppy, the angle all wrong, and full of teeth and lips not quite aligning, but the way her mouth tasted sent a shock to his heart.  He may have spent a week becoming progressively more angry and convinced she was using him, and he may have started this as some sort of sick game, but now he was lost, completely under her power.  He pushed a finger inside of her and shut his eyes tightly at the way her walls welcomed him in.  Clarke kissed his jaw, her tongue rasping against the few days worth of stubble gathered there.  His wrist was strained as he pressed his thumb against her clit and used his other hand to pull down her nightgown and palm her breast more roughly this time.  The way she moaned and moved against him was making him painfully hard and he kissed her again, just as her walls started to clench rhythmically around his finger.  She shuddered and shook in his arms and her thighs trembled and threatened to give out.

Clarke slumped over the counter when he pulled his hand away and braced herself on her forearms.  “Bedroom,” she managed.  “Now.”  She pushed herself up and grabbed his hand, still sticky with her arousal, and led him up to her room without another word.  She didn’t bother to turn on a light but the moonlight poured in from the window, illuminating her luscious curves in sharp relief.

She grabbed the hem of her nightgown and pulled it off in one smooth, practiced movement. “You’re still far too dressed,” Clarke purred, completely unaware of the effect her naked body had on him.  All he could see was acres of ivory skin and waves of blonde hair, bleached silver in the moonlight.  She nimbly undid his belt while he struggled with his tie with fingers that suddenly didn’t seem to work right.  Clarke took over unbuttoning his shirt with a crooked smile that twisted his gut. _What is this?_ he wanted to ask her, but at the same time he didn’t want to hear her answer, so he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her as she finished with his shirt.  Her kisses were fierce, he was learning, fierce and uncompromising, just like her.  She nipped harshly and his lower lip and he growled against her mouth.  

Bellamy shed the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could between her kisses, until they were both bare, and then he spun her around and pushed her flat on the bed.  “Condoms are in the drawer,” she told him, her voice muffled by the mattress, and Bellamy dug one out and rolled it on.  He kneed her leg aside and covered her with his body, pressing himself into her inch by inch.  Clarke moaned brokenly into the sheets and hitched her knee higher, splaying herself wide while he started moving, thrusting in and out.  

Their skin stuck together with sweat, his chest pressed against her back, but this position didn’t allow for much movement anyway.  Bellamy buried his face in her hair and slid his hands up her arms.  Clarke gripped the sheets and he laced his fingers between hers.  He couldn’t reach her lips like this so instead he kissed her neck and what skin of her cheek he could reach, hunching his hips to push himself into her velvety soft walls.  

Clarke pushed back against his thrusts and from the sound of her moans the friction from their movement was teasing her clit.  Bellamy’s breathing grew heavy as he neared the edge of his control and she squeezed his hand tightly as her walls clenched around him, making him see white and the heat gathering in the base of his spine finally released.

Bellamy held the condom on as he withdrew and Clarke sighed softly, as if she missed him already.   He tied it off and looked around for a garbage can, only to find Clarke sitting up with a kleenex in her hand.  “I’ll take it,” she offered, and Bellamy placed it in the tissue as she got up and padded toward her bathroom.  

He meant to stay awake— they were now long overdue for that talk— but sheer exhaustion won out and he was asleep before she returned.


	4. Chapter Four

_Three Years Ago_

_Clarke shuffled the papers in front of her and blew out an exasperated breath.  “Do you have the report from legal?”_

_“Yeah, right here,” Bellamy said and handed it over.  It was late— too late— but their quarterly review was next week and they still had a mountain of work to get through._

_Clarke rubbed her eyes and flipped through the report aimlessly.  She looked even more exhausted than Bellamy felt, and he had been staying at work well past ten for the past week.  Her eyes were rimmed in red and her hair, normally so carefully pulled back, was frizzy and in a haphazard ponytail._

_“You okay?” he asked, bumping her with his shoulder._

_She flopped back against the couch they were sharing.  “That obvious?”_

_“You just haven’t seemed yourself lately.  Everything alright?”_

_“God, I must really be a mess if you’re worried about me,” she said wryly._

_“Hey, I care,” he said with half a smile.  “Just because I accused you of being an unfeeling robot three days ago doesn’t mean I don’t care.”_

_Clarke snorted and let the papers drop in her lap.  “I broke up with Finn.”_

_“‘Bout time.”_

_“Did you even know him?”_

_“I know you’re too good for him.”  Bellamy twisted to face her, only to find her looking at him with a bemused expression.  “What?  I told you.  I care.”_

_Clarke curled her legs underneath her and worried her lower lip with her teeth.  “I found out— he wasn’t exactly single when we got together.”_

_“Right.  Raven.”_

_“Shit, you knew?  Did everyone know?”  She buried her face in her hands._

_“She told me. There wasn’t any office gossip, or anything.”  That wasn’t exactly true, considering the Finn-Clarke-Raven saga had eaten up a good two months of water cooler chatter.  So really, it was a bald-faced lie, but Clarke looked embarrassed and for some reason he didn’t want to make her feel worse._

_“God, I feel like such an idiot.  And it sucks because he works here, so I have to see him, and...god, he’s the first man I said I love you to, and then I find out I started as the other woman.”  She gave a watery chuckle and swiped at a tear that had slipped down her cheek.  “God, I’m sorry, you didn’t need to know any of that about your boss.”_

_“You’re not my boss,” he replied with a tiny smile.  It was an old argument--Clarke ran their division so technically she out ranked him, but she didn’t have the power to fire him, which he maintained meant she wasn’t his boss, even if she sort of was.  Somewhat impulsively he reached across the couch and grabbed her hand.  “But for the record, I mean it.  You’re too good for him.”  He gave her hand a squeeze and she gave him a real smile in return.  “But I’m starving, so I’m going to go order us a pizza before all the good places close.”_

_“I’ll take mushrooms, onions, and peppers on my half,” Clarke said, uncurling herself and picking up the report from legal again._

_“You’re disgusting.”_

_“At least I’m not going to die of a heart attack at forty, Mr. Meat-Lovers-with-extra-cheese.”_

_Bellamy made a face at her and she giggled, leaving him unaccountably happy considering he was still at the office at nine on a Tuesday._

***

 

The morning light was bright against the back of his eyelids when he next regained consciousness.  He had a vague memory of Clarke’s back curved against his chest from the night before, but he was alone in the king-sized bed now.  Clarke materialized in front of him, fully dressed.  “I have to go to the office,” she explained briskly, fiddling with the back of her earring.  “I’ll be back some time tonight.”   He couldn’t read anything in her face and her blue eyes flitted from place to place, never stopping long enough to focus on him.

 

Bellamy swallowed thickly and nodded, because he didn’t know what else to say.  Clarke seemed at a loss for words as well and left, leaving Bellamy to his thoughts.

 

He tried to keep himself busy, answering some emails from the office and half heartedly browsing through the library.  But instead his thoughts kept returning to Clarke— her warmth at the party, her heated skin against his, and then her businesslike manner that morning.  His doubts from earlier in the week came roaring back, and by five in the afternoon he was thoroughly pissed off.  He gave up pretending to work and poured himself a drink.

 

And then another one.  

 

And then another.

 

By the time Clarke walked through into the kitchen that evening, he was good and drunk.  “Welcome home,” he sneered.  

 

Clarke froze midstep and the beginning of a smile melted off her face.  “Is everything okay?”

 

“Do you even care?”

 

“What?”

 

Bellamy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes averted from the counter where the night before she had fit so perfectly into his arms.  “I’m just someone you bought, aren’t I?” he spat.

 

In an instant, Clarke’s countenance went from confused to furious.  “Fuck you,” she snapped.

 

“Already did, princess.  Remember?  Did I live up to my salary, or do my services need improvement?”  He pushed back in his chair with a deafening scrape and stalked over to her.

 

Clarke crossed her arms and stood her ground.  “You’re drunk.”

 

“I am.  You still didn’t answer my question.”

 

She scoffed but for a split second, something flickered in her eyes.  “Fuck you,” she said and turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

 

Bellamy sank into the nearest chair and ran his fingers through his hair.  He had spent the better part of the day dwelling on his anger and now that he had a chance to face it, it was gone.  In its place was a lingering, aching sadness.  It burrowed in his chest and made it hard to breathe, so he poured himself another whiskey to try and forget the last twenty four hours.

  
  


***

 

“Having second thoughts about matrimony, big brother?” Octavia asked as she poured herself a second glass of wine.

 

Bellamy gave a noncommittal shrug.  “We had a fight,” he admitted.  He could tell Octavia that much, at least.

 

“About what?”

 

“Money.”  That was sort of the truth, anyway.  

Octavia looked like she was fighting a smile.  “Let me guess: you’re still bitter that she was born with it, and you weren’t.”

 

“Something like that.”

 

She clucked her tongue.  “You know, sometimes you’re a little predictable,” she teased.  “Just apologize. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

 

“What makes you think I’m the one that needs to apologize?”  He scraped some leftover marinara sauce across his plate with his fork.

 

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Because I grew up with you.  Apologize.  Maybe grovel.  Actually, definitely grovel.  Beg.  Plead.  Whatever.  Just apologize, and be sincere.”

 

“When did you get so smart?”

 

“Learned from the best.”  She kicked him under the table and grinned.

 

 _Apologize_.  He could do that.

 

Maybe.

 

***

 

He meant to do what Octavia suggested.

 

He really, really did.

 

But he got home that night and Clarke was locked in her studio, blaring Peter Frampton, so he decided to wait. The next night she still wasn’t home from work when he went to bed, and the night after that she pretended he was invisible when she walked past him in the kitchen.

 

Maybe he deserved that (okay, he definitely did), but it pissed him off so they didn’t speak for the next week.  Living in a mansion had its advantages when you didn’t want to see the only other inhabitant.

 

Two weeks had passed when Bellamy woke from a sound sleep to a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning.  He flopped back in the king sized bed and punched his pillow back into shape, but then he noticed the thin strip of light underneath the door that separated his room from Clarke’s.  She had gone to bed early that night, or at least he assumed she had, since he heard her come home a little after eight and go straight to her room.  He glanced at the clock on his nightstand— 3:17am.

 

He got up and shuffled to the door, unable to suppress the feeling that something was wrong, and over the din of the storm he heard tiny, choked sobs.  Bellamy rested his forehead on the door and debated whether or not his presence would make things worse, but in the end he decided she probably couldn’t hate him any more than she already did and he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t at least try.

 

He opened the door slowly and found her sitting facing away from him in the black nightgown that had taken to haunting his dreams.  Her shoulders shook slightly with each sob and he cleared his throat.  Clarke whirled around and stared at him.  “What do you want?” she snapped.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Does it fucking look like I’m okay?”  She sniffled and turned away.  “It’s fine.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“What’s wrong?”  

 

Thunder sounded again and Clarke visibly flinched.  “None of your fucking business.”

 

A vague memory surfaced of something Monroe had told him years ago and suddenly he put it together.   _Her father died driving in a thunderstorm.  Clarke was asleep in the passenger seat and walked away without a scratch._

 

“You going to be okay?”  Clarke didn’t respond, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs, and Bellamy skirted the bed to sit down next to her.  Hesitantly, he placed his hand on her back and started rubbing soothing circles on it.  He half expected her to punch him, so when she lifted her tear stained face and leaned into him, he almost didn’t believe it was happening.  “Bad dream?” he asked and wrapped his arm securely around her shoulders.  Clarke nodded, her face now buried in his neck.  “It’s okay, I’m here,” he murmured against her hair.

 

The storm moved farther away and her sobs slowed, and eventually Clarke disentangled herself from his arms.  “Thanks.  I’m— I’ll be fine,” she said, taking a shaky breath.

 

“Do you want me to go?” She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and her cheeks still wet, and said nothing.  “Or do you want me to stay?” he asked, his voice suddenly raspy.  She nodded, and together they crawled underneath the sheets.

 

Two weeks ago, they had been in the same position under very different circumstances.  That time, Bellamy had passed out from exhaustion almost immediately, but this time, he was acutely aware of her every wisp of hair, every shift of her limbs.  Bellamy pulled her into the space under his arm and curved himself around her.  Clarke reached behind her and grabbed his hand, draping his arm over her side.  Her breathing evened out and when he was sure she was asleep he kissed the top of her head and whispered _I’m sorry_ into her hair.

 

It didn’t count, but it was a start.

 

She was gone by the time he woke up.

 

***

 

The next night, Bellamy was already in bed by the time Clarke got home and clicked on the light in her bedroom.  Physical comfort— that’s what he was to her.  He had spent the day debating if it mattered, or if he cared, or if he even wanted to bring it up.  He still hadn’t made a decision when a soft knock sounded on his door from Clarke’s room.  “Yeah?” he called.

 

Clarke opened the door and stood there, silhouetted by the light streaming from her room, still in that goddamn nightgown.  She rubbed one bare foot over the other and he propped himself up on one elbow, not missing the way her eyes tracked across his bare chest.  He wordlessly held up the blankets and Clarke clicked the lights off in her room, hurrying across the thick carpet.  She curled into him, resting her cheek on his chest.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

Bellamy secured one arm around her waist and used the other to brush her hair back from her face.  “Anytime, princess.  Anytime.”

 

The worst part was, it was the truth.

 

When he woke the next morning Clarke was still tucked securely under his arm, her backside brushing against his erection.  Before he could think it through he kissed her shoulder.  He didn’t really have a reason for it, except it was there and inviting.  Clarke made a soft mewling noise and arched against him before twisting in his arms to face him.  “Morning.”

 

She stayed close to him, their noses almost touching.  “Morning,” he replied.  “And I’m sorry.”

 

A furrow appeared between her brows.  “For what?”

 

“For the shit I said.  The night I was drunk.”

 

“Oh. That.”  She repositioned herself on the pillow and looked thoughtful.  “You were out of line, yeah, but I...I probably should have considered how you would feel.”

 

Bellamy swallowed thickly and decided to plow ahead.  “Why did you leave?” he asked, his heart pounding in his ears.  He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t take not knowing any more.

 

Clarke trailed her fingers across his cheekbone and down his jaw, like she was memorizing the bones underneath.  “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to stay,” she whispered.  

 

“I do,” he whispered back, capturing her hand and kissing her fingertips.

 

Clarke smiled at him, soft and open.  “I’m sorry too.  And thanks for the last few nights.”

 

Bellamy slipped his fingers into her hair.  “You want to talk about it?”

 

“My dad died in a thunderstorm,” she said with a one-shoulder shrug.  “Sometimes I get freaked out.”

 

She was downplaying it, he knew, but he let it go, especially once she leaned over and brought her lips to his in a slow, languid kiss.  “I don’t have to go into the office today,” he said when she finally pulled back.

 

Clarke focused on pushing back a curl that stubbornly kept falling across his forehead.  “Me either.  I was thinking of doing some painting today.”

 

“I can keep myself busy,” he replied.

 

She bit her lip, looking almost shy.  “You could join me.  In the studio, I mean.  If you’re not doing anything else, you can always read in there.”

 

“You’re sure?” he asked.

 

She smiled and kissed him soundly. “Definitely.”

 

**

 

Clarke’s studio faced east, with an impressive wall of windows that let in the morning light.  There wasn’t much furniture— it was mostly canvases of various sizes propped against the light pink walls— save for an old Victorian style chaise lounge.  Bellamy settled himself on it with a book and a mug of coffee while Clarke blared Eric Clapton and busied herself with her paints.

 

It was, quite frankly, the best morning he could remember having in a long time.  Clarke tended to hum along with the music, and she scrunched up her face in his direction when he pointed it out.  Eventually she dropped her brush into a jar of water and shuffled over to where he was lying.  Clarke plucked the book from his grasp and tossed it to the side over his protests.  She flopped down on his chest, her head tucked under his chin.  “You’re covered in paint,” he whined.  Clarke had a habit of wiping her hands on the old denim shirt she wore, turning it from light blue to a collage of reds and pinks.

 

“So?” she asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

 

Bellamy wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair.  “Now I’m covered in paint too,” he said.

 

“Do you have a sentimental attachment to— “ she pulled her head up to look at his shirt “-- this particular white undershirt?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I’ll buy you a new one.  I’m a millionaire, in case you forgot.”

 

Bellamy chuckled and breathed her in.  Underneath the sharp scent of paint he could still smell her and he stirred in response.  Clarke whined in protest when he pushed them up to a sitting position and moved to the floor, but that whine died off when he knelt in front of her with a smirk.  She watched him, her plump lower lip trapped between her teeth, as he moved her knees apart and nuzzled the thin skin of her inner thigh.  He moved slowly, placing wet, open mouthed kisses up one leg and then down the other, unbuttoning her shorts and easing them down to pool at her feet with her underwear.  Bellamy kept his eyes on hers as he glided his hands up to her hips and parted her folds, pink and shining in the morning light, with his thumbs.  Without breaking eye contact he brought his tongue to her clit, a light, feathery stroke that made her mouth fall open in a soundless gasp.  He moved his tongue lower, through the gathering wetness that was tangy and sweet just like her.  Clarke let her head fall back against the chaise and Bellamy’s eyes closed of their own accord, letting his other senses take over.  Clarke was surrounding him, her scent in his nostrils and her taste on his tongue as he pushed his tongue inside of her, and her keening cries echoed in his ears.  Her climax came suddenly and her thighs nearly snapped shut around his head, forcing him to hold them open as his tongue stroked her through it.  She was panting, her fingers knotted in his hair, and he decided to keep going until she screamed and came again, this time pushing his face away from her center as she gulped for air.

 

Breathless, she giggled and shrugged out of her shirt and crawled to the floor.  She pushed him on his back and clumsily pawed at his clothes until he laughed and helped her, shucking his sweatpants, boxers and t-shirt.  “Condom?” he asked, slightly preoccupied by the way her breast fit into his hand.

 

“I have an IUD and was tested recently,” she breathed in his ear, her nipple hardening under his touch.  “You?”

 

“No IUD, but tested recently,” he replied.  Clarke slapped at his chest but her laughter faded when he rolled them over and braced himself on his elbows.  He kissed her as his cock entered her, slow and deliberate, and she brought her knees up around his hips.  She wrapped her arms around his back and kept him close, his chest against hers, their bodies moving together on the paint-spattered hardwood floor.  She wedged her hand between her thighs and worked herself to completion just before he felt pressure building in his spine, and when he came inside of her, hot and wet and perfect, his lungs seemed to collapse.

 

Bellamy stayed in her arms, sweaty and sated, and happier than he’d been in months.

  
  



	5. Chapter Five

_Three Years Ago_

_Bellamy was preoccupied by the way the skin of Echo’s back felt under his fingertips when Clarke approached and cleared her throat.  He and Echo stopped swaying and turned to face Clarke, in a somber, high-necked black dress that should have looked out of place in the midst of the holiday festivities, but somehow didn’t.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said to Echo, holding out her hand.  “I’m Clarke.”_

_“Bell’s boss?”_

_“She’s not my boss,” Bellamy protested futilely._

_“It’s nice to meet you,” Echo replied, ignoring Bellamy._

_That earned her a grin from Clarke.  “I’ve heard so much about you— Bellamy says you’re finishing up your dissertation?”_

_Echo nodded, and Bellamy quickly found himself almost entirely shut out of the conversation.  Still, he sort of enjoyed it and contented himself with watching the two of them bantering about Echo’s research and Clarke’s job until Echo announced she was going to go get them all a round of drinks._

_“If you’re not careful I’m going to steal her from you,” Clarke said as they watched Echo weave her way toward the bar._

_“I’d like to see you try.”_

_Clarke smiled, but then it faded.  “I hear Azgeda Pharmaceuticals is after you.”_

_“I had a meeting,” Bellamy admitted.  He still fought with Clarke almost weekly, but he’d come to look forward to it somehow.  Leaving would be hard._

_“It’d be good experience for you.  If they offer you the job, you should take it.”  There was something in her voice that tugged at his gut, and he almost wanted her to fight him on it._

_Echo returned with the drinks clutched perilously in her hands and Clarke eased hers out.  “It was lovely meeting you,” Clarke said, “but duty calls.  I’d rather stay with you guys, but I should probably go mingle.”_

_“Nice to meet you too,” Echo said warmly, and once Clarke had melted into the crowd Bellamy kissed her cheek.  “I see why you like working for her,” Echo observed._

_“I don’t work for her.  And I never said I liked her either,” Bellamy replied._

_Echo nudged him in the ribs and laughed._

_The next week, Bellamy put in his notice._

_***_

__  
  


_Echo Johnson_

_9:32pm_

_Any chance you want to have dinner some time? I’d love to catch up._

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:48pm_

_That sounds ominous._

_Echo Johnson_

_9:49pm_

_It’s not, I swear.  I’d just like to see you and maybe catch up a little._

__  
  


Bellamy found himself agreeing to drinks— just drinks— at their favorite bar in his old neighborhood later that week.  But every time he went to tell Clarke about it (it was just drinks, and she was his ex but it wasn’t like there were lingering feelings) she would get a call about work, or she would be on her way out the door, and he didn’t want to just spring it on her.  He didn’t think she’d care, but he also didn’t want to bring it up when they wouldn’t have a chance to talk.  Not after how things dragged on after their last fight, with nights of sullen silence.

 

Echo was in their usual booth, a Guinness waiting for him across from her.  “I ordered for you,” she said unnecessarily.  She looked nervous, which was not like her at all.

 

“So you wanted to catch up,” he said as he slid into the booth.

 

“I hear you got married?”

 

“I did.”

 

“To your boss?”

 

“She wasn’t my boss,” he said automatically.  “And we haven’t worked together in years.”

 

“Still.  It was pretty sudden,” she said, picking at the label on her beer bottle.

 

Bellamy caught on to what she was implying and shook his head.  “It didn’t start when I was with you, I swear.”

 

“No, I never thought— I mean, you and her... whatever you had, I know you wouldn’t do that.  That’s not what I meant.”

 

“Okay, so then what?”  He took a sip of his drink just for something to do.

 

“Is this some sort of set up?  Is she paying you?”

 

Bellamy’s heart dropped into his stomach.  “What?  Why the fuck would you think that?”

 

She pursed her lips and focused on tearing a little more of the label.  “This guy contacted me.  Weird.  Creepy.  Not a dude you’d want to talk to, but he...he offered me money.  Lots of money.”

 

His heart started beating at triple the normal speed.  “To do what?” he asked, even though he knew.

 

“Get you to admit that she paid you to marry her, for one.  Or sleep with you and produce pictures or a video,” she said, holding up her hand to stop him from replying.  “I said no, okay?  I’d never do that to you, but it was such a weird question, and the wedding was so sudden...I know you.  You’re not impulsive, and even if you’d always had feelings for her—”

 

“That’s not true,” he interrupted.

 

Echo waved him off.  “Either way, getting married out of the blue didn’t seem like you.  Look, you don’t have to tell me if it’s a set up— it’s probably better if you don’t— but are you okay?”

 

“Are you asking if she’s holding me prisoner?”

 

A smile quirked up her lips.  “Something like that.”

 

“She’s not.  Really.  And...we’re happy.  It’s good.  We’re good.”  

 

A genuine smile spread across her face and his heartrate slowly returned to normal.  She’d bought it, or at least she wasn’t going to sell them out.  By the time they both finished their beers and she went outside to catch her Uber, Bellamy was smiling and Echo hugged him tightly.

 

He never even noticed the photographer.  

 

**

 

“Is that you?” Clarke called from the kitchen as Bellamy shut the front door.

 

“Nope.  Just a random stranger that got past an armed guard and a giant gate,” Bellamy yelled back.

 

“Very funny.  I ordered Chinese,” she said as he made his way into the kitchen.  Clarke was standing by the island, fishing for a piece of chicken with chopsticks.  “And yes, I got an extra order of spring rolls just for you.”

 

“You’re the best,” he said and absently pecked her on the cheek.  He found a carton of fried rice and pulled it open.  “By the way, I had drinks with Echo earlier this week.  She says hi.”

 

Clarke tipped her head toward a manila envelope lying on the counter.  “Is that why Cage sent me photos of you two hugging outside of a dive bar?”

 

Bellamy’s heart stopped.  “I swear, nothing happened.  She wanted to meet and—”

 

“It’s fine,” Clarke said.  “If Cage had something on you, he’d do better than just pictures of you hugging her.  He was trying to rattle me, is all.”

 

“He suspects something,” Bellamy admitted.  “He tried to get Echo to get me to admit it’s a fraud.  Or just seduce me, if that didn’t work.”

 

“She tell him to go fuck himself?”

 

“She did.”

 

“I knew I liked her,” Clarke said.  She put down her food and laid her hand on top of his.  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asked, her voice unsure.

 

“I meant to.  We were just so busy this week, and I didn’t want to drop it on you when we couldn’t talk about it,” Bellamy said, his eyes trained on the countertop.

 

Clarke took a shaky breath.  “Okay, I figured you had a reason.  And like I said, if he really knew what was up, he’d have more than some stupid photos.”  Clarke leaned across the counter and kissed him softly.  “I’ll have Marcus file a stalking claim against him or something.  Maybe blackmail.  Bog him down in legal shit, get him some terrible press.”

 

“Teach him not to mess with us, right?”

 

Clarke smiled.  “Right.”

 

Bellamy wove their fingers together.  “Besides, I think--,” he broke off, uncertain.

 

“That no matter how this started, it’s real now?” Clarke supplied, nervous and hopeful.

 

He leaned over and kissed her again.  “It’s real now,” he confirmed.

  
  
  
  


***

 

_Almost A Year Later_

_Ice clinked in Clarke’s glass as she raised it to her lips.  Bellamy kept his arm over his face, blocking out the hot Caribbean sun.  “I still can’t believe you own an island,” he said._

_“We own an island,” Clarke corrected him.  He heard her set the glass down and stand up from the lounge chair.  A shadow fell over him and then she was crawling on top of him, her knees straddling his hips.  “It’s yours now too.”_

_Bellamy moved his arm and ran his fingers up the curve of her thighs, steadying her above him.  “I own an island,” he said with a not-inconsiderable amount of awe.  When his mother died, leaving him penniless with a sister to raise, he never thought he’d even own a house much less a private island.  Sure, most of the money was Clarke’s, but he wasn’t about to split hairs._

_Clarke leaned down, her bright blue bikini in striking contrast to her ivory skin, and captured his lips in a lazy kiss.  “We own an island,” she murmured again, but then her breath caught in her throat as his fingers trailed from her hip to between her legs.  He pressed hard against her clit and she nipped at his earlobe in response.  Bellamy grinned to himself and nudged the blue material to the side, letting him feel how wet she was already.  He teased her entrance until she huffed impatiently in his ear.  “Hurry up,” she grumbled, but then moaned when he pushed two fingers inside of her and placed his thumb lightly against her clit.  He knew exactly how to touch her so she was shuddering around his fingers within minutes, and less than a minute later she’d shoved his own swimsuit down around his hips and sank down on top of him._

_Every goddamn time she felt perfect, and he wondered with the part of his brain that was still able to think if he would ever feel differently, but then she rocked her hips forward and he stopped thinking entirely.  He let her set the pace and contented himself with watching her undulate above him, her eyes the same bright blue as the ocean in front of them.  When he felt himself getting close he slipped his fingers between her curls and pulled one last orgasm from her, and her walls fluttering around his cock was all he needed to fall off the edge._

_Clarke leaned forward and kissed him again, smiling all the while.  “Happy Anniversary,” she panted._

_Bellamy arched his neck up to kiss her back.  “Happy Anniversary,” he echoed._

__


End file.
